


Soldier Boy

by ReoPlusOne



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, References to Suicide, Suicide, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-06
Updated: 2012-08-06
Packaged: 2017-11-11 14:23:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/479456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReoPlusOne/pseuds/ReoPlusOne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur knew a simple soldier boy.  And all he wanted was to go home.  Based off of ‘Suicide in the Trenches’ by Siegfried Sassoon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soldier Boy

On August 4th, 1914, there was celebration in the streets. The men and women of Britain were still high on hope, the young couples embraced at the train station as husbands told their wives they’d be home in time for Christmas supper and England himself went with them, dressed up and believing every word they said in his heart.

It was when Christmas Day, 1914 rolled around, that the troops began to realize just how many lies they’d believed. He watched them one by one begin to understand. The first man in his regiment to die had a sibling that had also joined up, a clearly underage boy who cradled his brother’s bloody head in his arms and wailed, only stopping when Arthur himself stepped forward and ushered him away. Arthur had been so used to death in the name of the king for so long that he hardly registered the looks that every single young man watching that lifeless body, imagining their own face or their brother’s face on it, waiting for it to move even a little. It was fear. Not the nauseating, adrenaline rush panic that war should be, that war had always been to him… but true, true fear. Though their rations were low the rats watched like vultures, feeding off of their anguish and cleaning their faces gleefully.

From that day on he watched his people slowly deteriorate within the confines of the trench, held there not by officer’s orders or fences or God’s will but solely by that fear. Fear defined all of them now, it seemed. But only because it was far too difficult to hope that you were dead or dreaming when the only thing you could hear was the sound of your own heart quivering in your chest and the distant sound of artillery fire.

“There’s a place we all go in the end,” Arthur told the boy, helplessly. “It’s a beautiful, peaceful place. It’s anywhere you’re happiest.”

“Like my mum’s house,” He whispered quietly. ”When the birds are all singing when the sun sets, an’ she’s making Sunday dinner?”

“Do you think that’s where he would want to go?” Arthur asked.

“I know that’s where I want to be,”

“Well then that’s where he’s gone. But you’ve got a while yet before you can join him. You’ve got a job to do.” And that was all the time he got. They were all only allowed certain amounts of things, now. One case of ammunition. One rifle. And when you died everyone was allowed five minutes to mourn you. And then, you no longer existed, not until the night fell and the rats came to watch you squirm with nightmares.

That night was cold and empty, save for a lone gunshot and one more casualty to add to the list for the commanding officer. There was no one to cry for the young man that felt very much like just a very little boy in Arthur’s arms, being carried to his grave. But Arthur did not cry for him. He had gone home.


End file.
